Captain Murphy steadied his hands, his fingers angled around the brass of his spyglass. The curve of the ocean was far from view as he stared into the sky.

A slight breeze roused the ship's white sails, and the sun’s touch slicked his body, tightening his tailcoat around him like a second skin. Deep, admiral blue had brushed away the clouds and settled the sea to a mirror shine, yet as Murphy twisted the spyglass, he couldn't deny the unmistakable swooping black forms.

The new land had promised hope, safety and freedom from the kingdom. But as Murphy's ship guided them to the nearing harbour, the circling harpies painted a different picture entirely.

A weight pressed against Murphy's shoulder, and on his right, Xander's tall frame leaned over the railing, squinting towards the horizon. Jewels of sweat beaded his black skin, and he straightened the flat cap on his head.

"Albatrosses, Phy?"

"Harpies." Murphy corrected.

"Who?"

Murphy handed him the spyglass and angled his first mate's head up to the sky.

"By the gods," Xander breathed, "they're damn ugly." He lowered the brass scope. "How'd you know they're Harpies?"

Murphy wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "Billie's been reading to me,” he said, and a brush of shame’s cruel touch reddened his cheeks. His word blindness was no secret. The crew knew, said they understood, said they didn't reprimand him or view him any less for it. Yet his inability to read always made him feel just a little bit smaller.

“She informed me that she considers herself a cryptozoologist."

Xander snorted. "I consider Billie to be many things, but a crypto-blah-blah is not one of them. A sadist, maybe," He returned the spyglass, and Murphy tucked it into his coat. "A crackpot, definitely. Or— Billie!"

Boot's had pounded up the steps to the quarter-deck, and a shock of blonde hair bobbed over the railings. Billie clutched her side; her white skin pinched a blotchy pink. She held up a gloved finger, and after a deep breath, a beam of a smile sparked the features of her face.

"Harpies, Captain!" She cried. "Real, sky-flying Harpies. Can you believe it? I told you, didn't I! I said they was real. I said it!"

Respectfully, Murphy bowed his head. "You did indeed."

“Ah, sorry to interrupt dork fest, but what would happen if one—or all—of those Harpies were to plummet towards the ship?”

Murphy eyed Xander, then followed the point of his finger. The black forms had advanced, and Murphy no longer needed his spyglass to see the gaunt pull of their humanoid faces. Strands of slick, oily hair whipped around the creature's heads, their vast black wings folded tightly to their sides. Murphy counted thirteen, and he didn't like the sound of those odds.

“Uh, how much trouble are we in?” Xander asked.

“Billie?”

Billie turned to the both of them, her eyes wide, not with fear, Murphy worryingly noted, but with admiration. She was enjoying this.

“Not much. They could just wanna chat.”

“Billie,” Murphy warned.

“Fine. A smidge. But they can't be that bad. My book says they bring forth a storm.” She gestured to the sky with a broad sweep of her arm. “I see no storm.”

A shout from the Crowsnest drew Murphy's attention back toward the nearing beast. Grey clouds began to form around them, the clear blue sky straining black as though foul tar-like ink had bled from their wings.

A sudden wind whipped across the ship in an icy gale. The rigging began to thump against the mast as the bitter breeze tangled its claws into the sails.

The ship rocked, and a wave of water crashed over the starboard side, soaking the deck and spitting yellowed foam into up the air. Murphy staggered against the wheel, his crew sounding like beached fish as they flopped and fell onto the deck.

“Phy!” Xander called, his body folded but unbroken against the railing.

A torrent of rain had started to fall, and Murphy held out his hand, his brown skin and coat already sodden through. Xander grabbed his hand, and Murphy hauled him up, the weight of his friend enough to topple.

“This is getting ridiculous!” Xander shouted, and Murphy nodded. As much as he admired the unknown, the unusual, he valued the life of his crew far more.

“Ready the cannons!” He ordered. Another wave struck the ship, but through the haze of rain and the howl of the wind, Murphy heard the courageous call of his crew.

“No!” Billie shone through the dark like a flame. A red welt cut a line across her cheek, and the rain washed the blood, dripping it down her skin like a tear.“Captain, you can't!”

“Billie, we have to.”

“You can't just open fire! They could be innocent!”

“Says the former assassin!” Xander shouted.

“Billie,” Murphy said calmly, and he grabbed her arms. “I know you mean well, but we can't risk the argument that they ‘might’ be harmless. Look at this storm. Look. They did this.”

“Just give them a chance.” Her face softened, and she flicked a soaking strand of hair from her face. “Please.”

“One chance.” Murphy nudged her backwards. “Go get your book. It might help.” Her head bobbed and she dashed towards the cabin.

“What do we do?” Xander asked.

He didn't want to say it, but he had to. He had to.

“Make sure she stays down there. Tie her up.”

“Seriously?”

“When we have to open fire, I don't want her to open fire on us. Do it!”

“Aye, Captain.”

Rain battered Murphy's skin as he steadied his hands on the wheel. He cleared his throat and then called the cannons to fire.

Their new land was supposed to have promised hope and safety, and he was damn well sure he would make so.